


death becomes us all

by paddyfields (lucitae)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Magic Realism, Shinigami, lapslock because its been too long, semi canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/paddyfields
Summary: shinigamicome in pairs.
Relationships: Matsukawa Issei & Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	death becomes us all

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea what i'm doing here except my brain went put ur two death motif boys together. this is just writing practice so it's shit. ALSO PLEASE READ THE WARNING TAGS??? i'm not gonna spoil anything but the tags should clue u in on what's happening. also grasp on characters are weak as always so please take everything with a cup of salt. also rather than graphic depictions of violence it's more like graphic depictions of death.

sweat trickles down the side of kenjirou's face but his hands are too preoccupied to wipe them away. his hands are stacked one on top of the other, interlaced, heel of his palm crushing the fragments of man's sternum towards the heart. in blazing red, hovering just above the man's forehead, is a timer that reads 00:00. it's been like that for the past thirty minutes but kenjirou isn't allowed to stop until the senior officer says to. so he keeps a dead heart circulating blood. the oxygen tank continues to provide flow into a body that no longer retains its soul.

matsukawa was here right as the clock counted down to zero and chauffeured the patient away in his spirit form. he smiled his usual business smile — the one that doesn't reach his eyes — and introduced himself to the soul that had just peeled away. a ninety degree bow yet the pitch black _kosode_ doesn't even crease. of course it doesn't. the laws of the physical world cannot govern the _other_.

kenjirou watched from the corner of his eye as he swapped with a junior doctor in resuscitation efforts.

it's pointless.

the bed shakes under the pressure kenjirou applies.

but no one else can see the numbers.

all humans can see is a doctor trying his best and a monitor that doesn't reflect their best efforts.

"you can stop now," the senior doctor says before proceeding to announce the time and date of death. he gets it wrong by thirty four minutes but what he says ends up recorded.

kenjirou trails behind the physician to break the news to family. "i'm sorry," they say at one point, heads deeply bowed, "we tried out best."

it rings hollow. of course it does.

no amount of words will alleviate the heartbreak or placate the surge in emotions. no amount of effort can fight what was preordained by gods.

tomorrow matsukawa will come with his physical body and offer closure. tomorrow matsukawa will hide the bruises and broken sternum under folds of clothing. scrub away the dirt under nails and paint the face in a way it resembles slumber instead of an untimely death. today, however, the family grieves and the team of medical professionals reflect on what they could have done.

kenjirou just wants to go home.

in high school, right after the announcement that he's been chosen to be the starter setter, kenjirou encounters a boy lying on the ground that looks exactly like him. except the boy's honey colored hair was matted to his face with blood. the resemblance is uncanny, right down to the uniform.

standing between him and another boy is a person clad with robes as black as ink. the hakama makes no sound as they take a step forward. kenjirou looks at the other boy who sits next to his bloodied twin and wonders where he's seen him before.

"do you understand what _shinigami_ are?" the individual who looks like he belongs in a shrine asks.

kenjirou vaguely wondered if this was a dream.

"even if we are _kami_ we make mistakes."

if it is, it's not funny anymore.

"the two of you died before your time." a sweeping gesture at the letters that hover above their heads. it details their name followed by a string of numbers. so that's why the other boy seemed familiar. kenjirou has seen him across the net. their string of numbers are different like lottery numbers. and like lottery numbers, none of them contain zero. "as an apology we are allowing you a guaranteed human reincarnation for your next life."

before kenjirou can grab the _shinigami_ by the collar, matsukawa issei does it first. the _kosode_ bunches under his fists, revealing the pristine white _shitagi_ underneath. "stop fucking with me," he snarls. the _shinigami_ doesn't waver, nor do they show any signs of fighting back. "why would i want to reincarnate when all my family and friends are right here?" taking the words right out of kenjirou's mouth.

"if it's a mistake," kenjirou says as he dusts off his pants before remembering there is nothing to dust and strides towards the other two, "and you're a _kami_. fix it."

the _shinigami_ goes quiet. kenjirou can't tell if they are taking the words into consideration or conversing with higher power.

"there is a way," they speak up after a while, " _shinigami_ come in pairs."

kenjirou meets matsukawa's gaze.

"but you can't reincarnate for a thousand years. we make sure life dies at the appointed time. whether that means to prolong or cut short — we collect and guide them to the afterlife."

so what?

"is a thousand years in exchange for a handful of decades really worth it?"

is that even a question?

kenjirou would make the same choice again and again. he's sure matsukawa would too.

that was their first meeting with the manager of district 48.

it's after everything is said and done do they realize it wasn't as simple as a mistake. when it comes to time on this realm, everything is scripted. even motor vehicle accidents where one party, drunk on their sense of self, gets away unscathed occur because the other party's side is up. but for shirabu kenjirou and matsukawa issei, it was the result of one _shinigami_ desperate to alter the fate of a loved one.

sometimes kenjirou wonders what decision he would have made if he was that _shinigami_.

kenjirou prolongs life. matsukawa escorts them to the next.

every facet of their 'adult' life more entwined with their role than they were promised: _shinigami live amongst men_.

then again, any semblance of normalcy ended the moment they could see the floating numbers and received letters designating the time and place of souls to reap.

kenjirou returns to his small apartment for the first time this week a little after midnight. his body falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

kenjirou slides out from it in his spirit form.

 _shinigami_ do not dream for they have nothing to live for.

kenjirou closes his eyes. a door manifests before him. he slides it open and walks through.

it's a simple _tatami_ room with _sukiya_ style elements. a single _tokonoma_ with a scroll hangs in the alcove, blank. there are no souls to reflect or put at ease. at the center of the room is a simple wooden table with a deep blue cushion on either side. one of the walls is just shelves of tea ware on display. the faint scent of _hojicha_ lingers in the air as if someone had finished their cup of tea not too long ago.

kenjirou slides a finger across the surface of the table. tomorrow it will be his turn to face the newly deceased and prep them for their 49 day journey. he takes a seat, kneeling on one of the cushions as he files through the stack of letters.

the _shoji_ screen slides open not long after. matsukawa walks in. kenjirou is certain that even if matsukawa was in his body, his _tabi_ would still remain silent as he walked. his hair is much longer than what it used to be, unlike kenjirou that still looks roughly the same as before. his arms could maybe take on ushijima-san in a wrestle. definitely defeat goshiki. kenjirou wonders what matsukawa has done after volleyball but they aren't close enough for such small talk.

"how is he?" kenjirou asks.

matsukawa seats himself across from kenjirou like he always does. two individuals who cannot dream finding ways to pass time.

"due to his untimely death, the gods took pity on him and allowed a single dream visit to bid his family farewell."

kenjirou knows that is not true despite matsukawa's composure. the gods are not so benevolent. matsukawa must have exchanged some of his merits for it to happen. kenjirou would have done the same.

 _it's because the two of you are so young_ , a senpai once told them. _give it a few hundred years_ , her partner laughs.

maybe. maybe in the distant future the souls will blur together. each story similar, falling on deaf ears. one unable to be differentiated from the next. they'll stop adding to their years of servitude for small favors.

but for now, it is still too raw.

for now kenjirou can still hear the screech of tires, feel the viscosity of blood between his fingers, recall the crunch of bone and the pain. kenjirou will never forget the black robes that never flutter despite the wind, the taste of iron that lingers in his mouth when his body regenerates, and the crest etched over his heart that is identical to matsukawa's.

they know what it's like to be snatched before their time. understand, more than anyone else, how fickle fate can be. some people are born lucky: human with a golden spoon in their mouths. _or an insect that has no awareness_ , kenjirou had once said and matsukawa laughed, dry. and maybe this is just their way to fight it. it feels about as futile as flipping the middle finger but neither of them dwell on it. following their hearts that stopped nearly a decade ago.

"i see," kenjirou says.

matsukawa studies kenjirou. the sweeping sensation unnerves kenjirou but he stays put, unwilling to let it show.

"can't sleep?" matsukawa asks as if this wasn't routine by now.

"yeah."

"i have the orzel warszawa match recorded," matsukawa starts and is interrupted by kenjirou's excited reaction. amusement seeps into matsukawa's expression as if he was aiming to elicit this sort of response from kenjirou. a rare smile graces his lips.

( kenjirou knows that matsukawa smiles to others. to his old comrades and family he stayed for. but rarely is kenjirou on the receiving end. but the same goes for kenjirou's smiles. after all, their existence serves as a reminder. can you really smile after knowing that? )

with a snap of his fingers the room folds in on itself.

kenjirou lands on matsukawa's couch. the tidy apartment kenjirou can count on one hand he's been in and never in his physical body. rather than a mounted television set, matsukawa opted for a projector. kenjirou watches as matsukawa pulls the game up.

kenjirou settles into the couch. the two of them take up opposite sides, a gap remaining in between them. he watches as ushijima-san tosses the ball for the first serve. his heart pounds in his chest. there aren't many things that can make him feel alive again. volleyball is one of them. and judging from matsukawa's expression, he is the same.

the room is only lit by the light from the projector. the colors reflect off the wall and fall over them, highlighting the gap between two souls. the libero digs a nasty spike and it returns perfectly to the setter. for a fleeting moment kenjirou wishes they could connect. the spirit form has similar capabilities as their physical bodies but lacks warmth. the ball is spiked then dug again. matsukawa's hand invades no man's zone, palm up and open. the setter tosses to ushijima-san. kenjirou winds his pinky with matsukawa's and stares at the screen so that his face won't give him away.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the rare souls who clicked and read to the end. ilu ❤


End file.
